All Know Fear
by WithoutHesitation
Summary: Her name doesn't really matter to the context of the story. She works for Scarecrow... A rare, competent employee. Maybe too much so. Nothing seems to shake her. He knows that everyone is afraid of something. As the master of fear, how long can he resist dragging out hers? As it turns out, he won't have to... No one is without fear.
"So you're immortal?" The words were offered in a genuine curiosity, and if there remained a healthy bit of skepticism, even after her unwilling demonstration, it was to be expected. Immortal after all, was a big word. ...and as it happened, not entirely accurate.

"No one's immortal." She murmured, conscious of his eyes still regarding her from behind. He didn't offer her the courtesy of allowing modesty, and to be honest, she didn't much care. She knew that he took in the pale twisting lines across her skin, her newest battle wound now just one more scar among countless others. The blood on her torn blouse was still wet. "Though I've heard it claimed otherwise. Maybe it's true. I don't know."

"Basically," And here she looked over her shoulder at the man she'd been employed by for some time now, considering the lack of expression offered by his burlap mask, "I'm harder to kill, that's all." She shrugged, pulling the borrowed shirt over her head. It was worn and comfortable, and it smelled of chemicals and hospital soap. "Thanks for this, by the way. I'll get it back to you."

"No need." He didn't sputter uselessly, as some would, about how she'd only been so badly wounded because of him, because she'd taken a hit that was meant to kill the master of fear. Her loyalty had surprised him at the time, but nonetheless he made no pause to grieve for the dying girl, using the opportunity she gave him instead, and... removing the threat.

After however, he hadn't simply left her. Certainly she was done for, the heavy shards of glass nearly bisecting her torso, but for her sacrifice, he had been willing to sit there on the cold concrete and wait. Again, as much as anything, because it made no sense for her to do it. Had she fallen in love with him? An odd notion to be sure, but love was one of a very small range of emotions that he knew could drive otherwise rational people to act in entirely irrational ways. It wasn't anger, or grief... It certainly wasn't fear. He knew fear.

Just as he knew it sat there in her eyes when they opened again.

She hadn't expected to see him there still, she'd done what she always did, waited for the pounding pain behind her eyes to stop, the blackness giving way to red, giving way to sight, then began addressing her wounds. Glass was always a special kind of miserable, especially when it was so deeply embedded in her own flesh. Slick with blood, sharp on all sides, and held into her body by that suction of any smooth weapon plunged deep, it was almost impossible to extract on the first try. This was her excuse for not paying attention. It was a bad excuse, at least in her own mind.

Certainly he'd been surprised, again, but offered little to show it. No, he was thoughtful, already thinking past the sight of torn muscle and fresh blood, and debating how this could be useful to him. He helped her remove the glass, making certain that she knew, when he met her gaze, that he'd seen her fear, however brief. Just the same, he'd helped without a word, watched with fascination as the wounds closed, slowly, over the next hour, before seeming to come to the conclusion that she might like something slightly more intact to wear.

So now she wore the thin brown shirt that he usually did, and avoided looking at him too directly. She'd seen that he recognized her fear, it was expected, but that was all she cared to see. There was no desire in her to see his reaction to the ugly mapwork of scars that had been revealed across her skin. She healed quickly, that was it. That was the end all and be all of her 'immortality.' She was harder to kill, and quicker to heal. Quicker, not better.

And so her scars.

Jonathan Crane however, made no comment on the pale, faded marks... In his estimation, they were dismissible. That wasn't to say that he didn't recognize the discomfort she demonstrated upon having them revealed, no, that he filed away for later use.

She was oddly pretty as she sat there... For the first time he'd seen her now, looking utterly vulnerable. Human. Cheeks flushed a self conscious pink, eyes faintly brimmed by tears, though she valiantly held them back... She bit her lip, nervously, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at him, to avoid acknowledging that any part of her cared about his opinion.

Just this morning, he'd found himself immensely frustrated by her seemingly impermeable facade. Again. Used to settling for halfwits, incompetents, and superstitious fools, it was actually unbalancing to have someone in his employ prove reliable. ...No, not even just reliable, perfect. She showed no anger, no fear, no hesitation, no pain... She could fight, move unseen, or traverse encrypted code with... Well, not the best of them, but still. He'd made his life's work about prying open the cracks in the human mind, dredging out weakness, in particular, fear. ...while this woman, in his employ or otherwise, seemed to exhibit none.

Just this morning, once again, he'd weighed her worth against the immense satisfaction that would surely come from breaking this seemingly unbreakable creature. He'd played about the idea of her screams, of fear filling her eyes, of teasing her most deeply hidden terrors patiently free... Of being reassured, once again, that no one was immune from fear. From him.

He was certain he could do it. Toxins would make it too easy though... breaking her mind should be, more elegant somehow. A true prize.

...and here she was, nothing indomitable or unyielding... Her fears written plainly enough for the most inept of minds. It was almost disappointing.

It was odd, the urge he'd been forced to resist, of reaching out... running his fingers down those lines... Just to feel her shiver, surely. Her flesh still unbreakable, but her mind now raw clay for him to toy with. He was glad she wasn't looking. If she had chosen that moment to turn, his mask would have done a poor job of hiding his grin. The attempt on his life aside, though nearly successful, this had been a very good day. A subject with such a uniquely unparalleled perspective on futility, pain, existentialism...

She wiped her hands reflexively on her pant legs, placed her palms against the blood-soaked concrete, and pushed herself back into a standing position. There was no sound of pain, no wince, but she revealed an uncertainty now in the way she held herself. He had her secret, and she wasn't certain how to handle that.

Like him, she made no mention of having saved his life. It was moot. It was what he paid her for, what he'd contracted her to do.

For the first time in a long time, she felt weak. Usually it was so easy to convince herself that she really was invulnerable...

It was strange, having the smell of the man enveloping her. Wearing his shirt.

She didn't trust him. She'd have been a fool if she did, deserving of the fate she sometimes saw him weighing in his eyes. Yes, he'd been looking for a crack to work his fingers into, and here she was... cracked. Would he try to break her? He wouldn't be the first, but he would be the first to go into it knowing her secret. He would know that with the right approach, her 'gifts' could shape her hell.

He could break her. ...and knowing this, it already left her half broken. He had to see that.

Never mind how long now she'd been right beside him, pushing his agenda, she was afraid of the Scarecrow.

And oh yes, yes, he knew that now.

...It was a moment of decision, but she didn't know how this would be played. Almost certainly, he would make the first move. She held some power still, for now, still able to run, to fight, but it was a power that could be easily lost. She knew that, and she waited.

First came the touch against her shoulder, feather-light. She tried not to flinch, as she always did when he proved his proximity. This time, she didn't quite succeed. She waited for that low chuckle of pleasure that came with the Scarecrow watching someone show fear... especially fear of him. It didn't come.

"How very hard," He murmured, with a gentleness she didn't believe for an instant he was capable of, "Carrying such a deep, weighty secret. And for how long? Waiting for someone to find out. Waiting for someone to see you for what you really are... How afraid you must have been, that someone would finally find out the truth..."

There it was, at long last, that brief, but unmistakable, shiver. He felt it under his gloved hand, and made no effort to hide his grin. His tone dropped, a menacing whisper now, at the same time becoming softer, somehow more intimate. "Why, you're positively trembling, my dear. Could it be... that I'm what you fear most right now?"

"Yes." Though whispered, she admitted to it readily, certain that anything else would only bring very bad things. "I'm afraid of you, Scarecrow. I know what you can do... I've seen what you can do..." Her voice wavered here. "And I am so, so afraid."

For a moment, nothing. She waited with held breath for the prick of a needle, the choking of a fine powder... A gas that left her screaming and reeling at unseen terrors...

Instead, Scarecrow just made a small sound of satisfaction, and released her. "Well then," His tone took on a note she was certain she'd never heard from him before... light, good natured, entirely unsinister amusement, "As that's finally been settled, we should probably see to removing ourselves from the scene of the crime before the Batman arrives, don't you think?"

Now she turned, staring blankly in astonishment. Crane smirked, an expression she'd seen many times now, but never before with so little malevolence. "Unless you'd care to press the issue more...?" It was a goad, clearly. He was taunting her.

She was surprisingly okay with that. He seemed satisfied to leave it at ' so very, very afraid,' aside from the tease. To be honest, it was a great deal more than she expected. Though she worked for the man willingly, she always assumed that if she revealed the slightest trace of weakness, he would leave her shaking and sobbing on the floor, slave to the visions rising from her past...

This... He was being positively... amiable.

Not to be trusted.

Her cover cracked, she was now an open book to him, and he delighted in it, ideas of disappointment already vanished. That precious look of fear, in all its sweet variations... Uncertainty, wariness, helplessness... Dread, self doubt and panic, brimming just beneath the surface... It was beautiful on her. More perfectly so because it was earnest, not contrived by toxin, or words of honeyed venom teasing forth her long forgotten demons... She was afraid of HIM. So, so afraid... Because she, better than most in this city, knew exactly what made him terrifying. What he was capable of. And he found he enjoyed the taste of that very much.

He gestured for her to lead the way, with a small, grandiose flair, well aware that the last thing she wanted at that moment was to turn her back on him again. Still, after only a small hesitation, she obeyed, acceding to his whim, and led the way out into the open yard. The house was still, grim... Almost perfect. Other than the body currently cooling rapidly in the living room, of course. Shame. It had been a pleasant change, a house.

She had her chance to run, once in the open, and he knew she considered it. She fetched the car, and he knew she considered it again. Instead, she sat there tensely while he climbed into the passenger seat. She was really very beautiful when she admitted to her fear, he mused again. And of course, she was very good at her job. ...no, he wouldn't break her, not yet.

He wanted to see how this played. He was going to destroy her of course, already anticipating the beautific despair that would be painted across those features when the time finally came. The rising panic, the realisation of utter, complete helplessness... That moment when she surrendered to her most horrifying fears... It would be magnificent. ...Eventually.

For now, he still had use for her. Besides, it was all part of the process... The experiment.

The fear.

The Scarecrow.


End file.
